


My Crown Is Called

by TotallyHuman



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Body Worship, Established Pharmercy, Eventual Smut, F/F, M rating will change, Polyamory, Recovery, Slow Build, Tags to be added, bad tagging, eventual OT3, pining?, pov switching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7626172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotallyHuman/pseuds/TotallyHuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pharah is downed in battle, her body decimated and ravaged while she barely clings to the edge of life. Mercy takes it into her own hands to rebuild Pharah with Symmetra's help.</p><p>The recovery of Pharah's mind and body is hard, but becomes even more tedious to navigate when emotions are cultivated in the most unexpected way.</p><p>[A fic inspired by Pharah's "Mechaqueen" skin.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. These Are the Clouds, Hard as the Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the phonetic spellings of the arabic words, ommee meaning "my mom" and albi "my heart." If that's incorrect please tell me.
> 
> It's almost odd going into a fic without smut in the forefront of my intents tbh but I've just had this idea in my head forever.
> 
> Tell me if you want more! I don't have a beta for this yet unfortunately, so I went over it myself, forgive me for mistakes.

Fareeha wakes up in the clouds.

Everything is white, blindingly white, and the ground beneath her is soft and cradling by the way her body is sunken into it. This is all she’s ever wanted, right? How old is she? Only old enough to have this simple dream. There’s a whisper of a thought in her head. A young, dark haired and dark skinned woman, blurry and far away:

“ _I want to touch the clouds, ommee,_ ” there’s so much awe, the clouds are so beautiful and so high.

Soft and encouraging laughter, “ _Albi, you can achieve anything with a just and determined heart._ ” That voice... Fareeha loves it so much. Misses it so much. Who told Fareeha that?

Fareeha is not in the clouds.

Everything in the room is clinically white, it would all blend together if not for the shadows and light outlines of their shapes against one another. The surroundings become more clear as she tilts her head back and around, but does nothing to clear the confusion in her mind. It’s as if her mind has been replaced with thick cotton, unable to process anything despite the lack of happening. The room was completely still and silent save for Fareeha’s ruffling against the bed.

It takes a couple seconds for Fareeha to realize she should move. It takes less than that to realize that her body feels entirely foreign. Not just _odd_  but **_wrong_**. Incorrect. And when Fareeha decides to scan down her body, she freezes up.

She’s in a papery white hospital gown that doesn’t hide her robotic legs. Fareeha’s breaths come out shallowly and she tilts her head back, screws her expression up and squeezes her eyes shut. One hand presses to her side and slides along her stomach. Metal and flesh contrast beneath the fabric of the gown. The hand moves to her head, where her hair should be. But there is only more metal, then to her face, only more metal -

Panic floods her chest, faint like the first unkind stirrings of poison in your system.

It’s like she isn’t human at all. Only a robot with human spliced in. _Is Fareeha human?_  She has no idea. The cotton in her head churns and churns, producing no answer, only more panic.

What’s happened to her? Where is she? _She doesn’t understand._

Fareeha doesn’t understand anything around her or about herself. This isn’t her. Who is she?

Fareeha… Fareeha Amari. There’s Overwatch, looming. Gunfire and rockets, explosive and burning on the nape of her neck. An angel - it’s there and important but vague -

The questions spin around in Fareeha’s head. They’re endless.

A sound of distress escapes Fareeha and the panic surges through her, spiralling and swallowing like a whirlpool. But when Fareeha sits up and puts her weight on her two not-human legs they falter beneath her because Fareeha at once is unfamiliar with the sensation of robotic legs. It sends a surge of rejection through her own body and Fareeha crumbles, hunched over on her knees with one cybernetic forearm braced against the hard white floor.

Her left arm is flesh and bone, she thinks. Colorful against the monotone setting. It seems human. Fareeha’s eyes flicker between her two limbs, her breathing now labored and scared. Has she always been this? Her mind recoils at the idea. Hard.

Fareeha looks around while her eyes start to burn and sting with the building of tears beneath them.

Fareeha raises her robotic hand, feeling her fear and confusion whip into fury and a crack meets her ears as her cybernetic fist meets the tile. Fareeha, of course, can’t feel any pain from it. Something about that - the idea that the limb couldn’t even _pretend_ to be human -

A sob resonates around her, it sounds ripped. Torn viciously from Fareeha’s lungs. Does she have lungs? She hits the floor again, and again, and _again_. It gives steadily, but the continued beating begins to weaken the arm as well.

Fareeha doesn’t stop when her hand breaks apart, metal fingers and tendons littering the cracked apart floor. Beneath the tile is more foundation, no ground or dirt. Fareeha just keeps hitting and _hitting_. Diligently and desperately trying to destroy the limb in hopes that a new, correct, human one will grow in it’s place.

The sobbing has turned into blatant, wrecked wailing accompanied by the smashing of her arm. It sounds like torture. Nothing seems as suitable to Fareeha for this as ‘torture,’ horribly painful in pain’s absence.

Mechanical plates and muscle give under the trauma but it gives Fareeha no satisfaction. A fact that serves as no mitigating factor to her spiralling emotional turmoil. She tries to continue destroying herself even when she can’t see through the tears overflowing from her eyes. Only derailed from the course of action when a group of grey-suited men pile through Fareeha’s door and grab at her, pulling her away and holding her manic, struggling form to the bed. It’s made easy by the fact that Fareeha only has one arm and is too distraught to properly fight, her muscle memory is jaded and fuzzy like her head.

A young, dark skinned and dark haired woman stands over Fareeha.

“No, don’t contact Angela. The activity spike was an anomaly.”

She is not the one who told Fareeha she could touch clouds. She is focused only on the broken mechanical limb as one of the men stabs a needle into Fareeha’s neck.


	2. Like This We Waver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful Bleujay (hit up their fics yo)
> 
> There will probably be lots of flashbacks in this.

_[Three months ago]_

“Thank you for… for showing up. I understand it’s very late, Miss Vaswani,” Angela said, voice quiet and her tone appreciative, but also sad and distressed. As of the past week, it had constantly been sad and distressed.

Angela was much worse five days ago. Five days ago, she was an inconsolable mess of a person. A woman who had watched her girlfriend, the person she loved most in the world, go down in a chorus of blasts and fire, an army close - too close - on the street horizon. It was one of Angela’s worst nightmares. It wasn’t _almost_  one of her worst nightmares. They hadn’t _barely_  escaped. Talon soldiers ripped Fareeha from Angela. They succeeded.

What was left of Fareeha was so _mangled_ , lying on the metal display table in a private room for Angela. The first thing she did was vomit. Every inch of Angela’s being screamed in hatred at the sight. Who could Angela protect if not the woman she loved most?

She knew that the thought wasn’t applicable. Fareeha was a soldier through and through, this was likely the way it would have always been. The way she wanted to go, even. It was a noble cause, Talon couldn’t get the artifact - imagine the destruction if they had.

Those were some of the consoling words Angela had received.

 _Just like her mother_ , Morrison had said. Angela didn’t want to know what he would say about this, though part of her already had an idea. That didn’t matter right then though, because Satya was here, willing to hear Angela’s proposition - which must be entirely apparent. She hadn’t denounced the intent Angela had, like a couple doctors had long ago when she was heading up Genji’s project.

Angela knew Satya exhumed Genji’s file recreationally when she joined Overwatch. Angela knows that Satya is brilliant and perhaps cold, but in all the places Angela couldn’t be but required for this.

And as of then, Satya Vaswani was standing in the illuminated operating room with Angela at nearly midnight. The recently cleaned and preserved cadaver of Fareeha Amari, moniker Pharah, was splayed on a metal tabletop. Angela kept forcing herself to look but could only hold the gaze for a mere several seconds before her mind relapsed into brittle, emotional rubble. In contrast, Satya was standing awfully tall in a light blue kurti parted on the sides with black leggings beneath. She had her visor on even then, though her hair was pulled back into a functional ponytail. Angela thinks that Satya’s visor is something of a clutch, but it doesn’t pose a problem. Only an observation.

Even if the outfit was only Satya’s sleepwear, she managed to look far more regal than Angela at ten till twelve am in her own baggy yellow pajama pants and white night robe pulled over her tank top. Though Angela’s eyes and cheeks had been perpetually red, her eyebrows drawn up and together as she tried to process the constant funnel of stress inside of her head. Angela was nowhere near being a put-together person at that moment, not like Satya.

Satya strolled slowly around the other side of the table, her eyes fixated on Fareeha. Angela can see lines drawn through the visor, potential plans rushing quickly through Satya’s mind. Angela has researched hard light manipulation - it takes an impressive mind to use it only basically, and an extraordinary mind to use it as easily as Satya.

“It’s fine, I was awaiting your call. I know you’re very intelligent, even now, you know what decisions are wise.” Satya said, controlled, her accent complimenting her words as she came around the bend of the table, stopping near Angela’s side. Her words were perfect, as though Satya was reading Angela’s mind and continued, “I agree to collaborate on this project with you, of course. This opportunity should not be wasted.”

At the confirmation, Angela instinctively took a step closer, intending to - to hug Satya, maybe? But stopped herself immediately, her hands clutching into the fabric of her robe tightly as she squeezed her eyes shut and kept herself in control. She had to do that - maintain control. Or else all of this could topple over, sand between Angela’s fingers leaving memories like dirt and blood in the ridges of her skin.

“Thank you,” Angela settled in a trembling tone. When she opens her eyes she saw Satya’s hand flinch back to her side in her peripheral vision, as if the other woman had been meaning to do something with it - to comfort Angela - but didn’t at the last second. Angela let Satya keep that motion to herself. It matters that Satya would think of it. For now, Angela needs only for her to follow through with the project.

“It is an honor to collaborate with you, Miss Ziegler, to have you know.” Satya spoke very formally. Her lips pressed a little tighter, her head turned to look down on Angela. “Have you started drawing up plans?”

Angela nodded, not wanting to look at the table, she downcast her eyes as she spoke. “Yes, I have. Overwatch is offering any materials - for how well Genji worked out. Fareeha - she was one of the best,” Angela’s voice still broke on the last word. The sentence itself - it broke Angela. Her shoulders curled minutely in on themselves. “I’ll send my plans to you, they’re - they’re in progress, I - I - “ Angela stopped to inhale deeply. Take the reigns, take the reigns.

A pause swelled silence between Angela and Satya. In a softer tone, Satya confided, “We will bring her back,” it sounds like a promise, and god, Angela needs this promise, “you will have your archangel again.”

Angela hasn’t had much time to get to know Satya before now, but she still believes the woman. Angela only hoped that they would be able to revive Fareeha’s mind as well as her body.


	3. Meaning, To Suffer Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm worried this chapter may be a bit bland but, I think the 4 is going to be good - and I've got some... interesting things planned for chapter 5. And all I have left for No 4 is for it to be beta'd so it shouldn't be too long

The next time Fareeha wakes up she feels much less like a deer in headlights. She remembers the white ceiling, the silence, the shift of her skin against the bed.

No, not skin. It’s all metal. Fareeha’s opened eyes squeeze tight together again and she _breathes_. Easy, in and out. The memories of last time linger like a nightmare in Fareeha’s thoughts, and though her entire being is deeply malcontent with - with whatever she is. Fareeha doesn’t want to stay stuck in a nightmare.

Not that she could repeat it so easily.

Unlike the last time she awoke, Fareeha’s limbs are held down to the bed by cuffs that don’t touch her wrists and ankles but keep her in place nonetheless. Fareeha is about to begin tugging aggressively at their hold before being shut down, “You’re in an Overwatch facility.” A voice, reserved and formal in an Indian accent states. “Which means you are safe.”

Fareeha’s head snaps in the direction of the voice intensely. It’s the same woman from before, who stood like an unbreakable tower over Fareeha as she was put back to sleep. Only now she sits patiently beside Fareeha’s bed, one leg over the other with a tablet in hand. She looks like a statue or - or a robot, like she should be the one of metal and technology. Instead she looks entirely human, except for her arm. Like a negative of Fareeha’s body, it’s a hint of robot instead of a hint of human. The woman was oddly enthralling in her royal image, she immediately conveyed a sense that she was, to some degree, untouchable.

“Do you recall Overwatch?” She asks, and Fareeha finds comfort in her chaste and uncomforting manner - like talking into a box that you know will keep your words safe and away from prying eyes.

Clearing her throat, Fareeha responded, “Yes, we…” Fareeha inhales again, feels the cuffs restrain any potential movement, and thinks, “fight the chaos. We bring justice. I do.” It feels so good to remember that, to dust off an important piece of herself. Fareeha has no idea of how long that this has been her existence, but there’s reassurance in knowing it is not all that she is, that there’s more even if she cannot with clarity see into the depth of her personality. That she is not an empty bottle to be filled by others.

Looking at the woman - Fareeha wonders, if she was indeed an empty container, what this woman would forge her into. Fareeha’s eyes trail inquisitively over her robotic arm, a different style than the sleek yet stern design of Fareeha’s limbs, but pretty. Fareeha can tell it has the same intricate uniqueness that this woman must have. Who is she? Has Fareeha seen her before?

Something nudges a bundle of memories in Fareeha’s head, but their veil holds strong.

And then the entrance on the far side of the spacious white room opens. A blonde woman with her hair tied up and in tapered slacks, a button-up, and a lab coat steps in through and closes it behind her. Immediately Fareeha’s brow furrows at the sight, as if the new women's presence has cast a shadow over Fareeha’s mind. Or perhaps shined a light over all the places that Fareeha cannot yet make out in the fog. If so, Fareeha closes her eyes to shield herself from it, feeling her face warp in thought.

Her voice is so light, accented as well, lovely, comforting, heavenly. “Fareeha, I’m Dr. Ziegler - “

“Mercy!” The word unravels in Fareeha’s mind and rolls, thick and heavy off of her tongue. It’s the only strand of yarn Fareeha can trace back to the woman in her head, though it the line is stressed. There’s something apologetic aching in the back of Fareeha’s throat and she doesn’t know why. Fareeha’s eyes burn again but this time she opens them, stares wide eyed at the ceiling and forces them to sink down. “Mercy, you’re - you - “ what? What’s on the tip of Fareeha’s tongue? “Angel?” Fareeha questions aloud. That word is not a neat yarn line, it’s an island, alone and desolate that Fareeha can’t reach to make sense of.

“Hey,” she speaks again and Fareeha is compelled to look at the woman, sapphire blue eyes round and condolling, “do not worry. Trying to force your memory may only do more damage. I am Dr. Ziegler, and I’m here for you.” The words make Fareeha feel less tense and she lets go of some of the rampant ‘running to sort’ course of action inside of her head that she had become hell bent on all of a sudden. Ziegler swallows heavily and tacks on, “To make sure you’re progressing healthily.”

“Understood.” Fareeha exhales, turning her eyes up back at the other dark-haired woman, “Who are you?”

“Satya Vaswani, co-head of your project with Miss Ziegler.” She replies with a lingering glance to the blonde.

Fareeha looks away for a second and then back, “Symmetra?”

Satya raises an eyebrow, almost as if surprised. “You recall my moniker? Interesting. An alias only, please, call me Satya. We will be spend some time together in the coming months.”

Dr. Ziegler catches Fareeha’s eye again. In light of the small exchange with Satya, a hint of concern or distress glints in the doctor’s eye. Fareeha wants nothing more than to make it go away. “Did you do this?” Fareeha asks, her voice not quite asking it right - understood in the way Ziegler’s eyebrows raise with a tossed look of worry to Satya. Fareeha wasn’t attacking her. “Heal me? Was I - was I hurt? That’s why I’m… this way, now? Its why I have these memories, right? You saved me.” The last sentence was caught somewhere between a question and an appreciation. It wasn’t a certain assumption, but Fareeha felt ‘Angel’ warp into another string at the conclusion.

Ziegler’s head drops and Fareeha wonders if she said the wrong thing. Satya’s eyes dart back to the doctor and her hand moves to her shoulder. And then Ziegler raises her head and Satya retracts her hand.

“Yes, that is correct. Both me and Miss Vaswani did.” Ziegler exhales, gathering herself in a matter of seconds. “Alright, I have some basic questions. Do you remember your full name and the current year? Do you remember why you’re here in recovery?” there were more, questions about Fareeha’s memories, relationships.

Fareeha drops her head back and tries to concentrate without pushing the envelope like Ziegler warned. She answered whatever was possible, which was the basic questions about time and society but - the nitty gritty things like relationships and her sense of self, those were all below the surface still.

“I’m sorry I can’t remember.” Fareeha huffed, staring at the ceiling.

“It’s not your fault. You’ll remember everything in time, hopefully.” Ziegler assuaged

“Can these - “ Fareeha writhes in the cuffs again, “come off?”

“It appears that you’re stable now,” Satya asserts and Ziegler seems to throw her an odd look that Fareeha can’t place. It doesn’t seem to be pleased, but it gets smoothed down after a moment as Satya taps on the tablet in her hands.

The cuffs power down and release Fareeha. She slips her wrists and ankles free from them and curls her limbs inward. Gingerly, Fareeha taps her metal fingers against one metal leg, thinking silently.

“I… I don’t know what to do or where to start.” Fareeha admitted, staring at the comforter beneath her. Fareeha couldn’t even feel the softness of the fabric with most of her body.

“Thank you for saving me, but,” Fareeha was not going to freak out, but she can feel the headiness of her emotions swell tears beneath her eyelids again, “I just - I don’t know where to start; to remember, or to understand - understand this body.” She turns her head to the two women beside the bed, resting her cheek against her knee. “You’re both strangers. _I’m_ a stranger to myself. How do I return to the person I was, now?”

Satya trained her body language back, holding her head up and focusing her eyes on Fareeha. She commanded attention quietly. “You don’t need to be the same person. You’ve been through much, more than most. That is due an amount of internal change. You’re under no obligation to be the same person that you were, Fareeha. It is only important you remember for context, to better understand what you’ll be walking into.” The words are like the lights in the room. They help Fareeha see everything. Not into the fog of her… past? life, but of how she’s seeing now. It’s hard enough to be confused about your past, and Fareeha was dreading having to be confused about the person she’s _supposed_ to be in this moment. The person everyone she’s known, who knew her, expect.

In one fell swoop Satya’s words shucked a weight from Fareeha’s back.

Abruptly, Ziegler pushed away from the bed. “That’s - that’s right, Fareeha. Satya is right. You shouldn’t feel…” there was a break in her voice that made something curdle in the pit of Fareeha’s stomach. But what could she do? She didn’t know how to comfort this woman.

“I - “ she doesn’t.

“Don’t feel obligated to anyone or anything if you remember. You weren’t brought back for others, but because you deserved it. You deserved to finish your life, even if you change the course of it now.” Ziegler stood with haste, meeting Fareeha’s gaze momentarily. “I’m sorry, this is inappropriate.” The doctor excused herself like she was frightened. Saddened. Fareeha watched her walk away and close the door behind her.

“A-angel - ?” Fareeha whispered the word again, softer than a mouse.

Satya didn’t seem to notice.

“Apologies, Fareeha. Ziegler is quite invested in this project, you understand.” Satya explains, hardly. She, too, draws herself up. “I should tend to her. I’ll return with a schedule to help acclimate to your new body and test the cybernetics, consider me… your primary supervisor. It was nice to finally meet you, Fareeha.” Satya nodded, following Ziegler’s trail out of the door.

Fareeha was alone again.

After some time, Fareeha stands and explores the room. It’s not much different from a (rather luxurious) studio apartment. Everything is in one large space. There’s a bed, a dresser, a round table with four seats, a kitchenette, a bathroom with a sliding door and a floor-to-ceiling mirror. It was only missing any customization. Which is just as well, Fareeha has no idea what she would put up anyways. She suspects that she has things, someone. A home or an apartment or bunk. Satya’s right, Fareeha will be grateful for the details of what she left behind - just to know, to be sure.

  
After wandering into the bathroom, Fareeha took one glance at herself in front of the mirror and felt her features contort with disgust. She pins a towel over it and decides to go occupy herself with… something. What is there to do, anyways? The muscle tension in Fareeha's body where muscle still exists yearns for action. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful wayhaught-stuff @ tumblr.com
> 
> And you can also follow me at galaxynoxious.tumblr.com as well *finger guns*


	4. It's A Picture Show, See It Spin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely one of my favorite chapters so far, tbh. I hope you guys (who still care for this fic, anyways) enjoy it!

_[A month and a half ago]_

 

Satya sat tensely at the desk in her personal quarters of the Overwatch facility. The room was meticulously clean, white walls, floors, and ceilings - and most decorations and furniture - broken up with light blue accents in the details of things. It was a harshly light palette that Satya found clean. You could spot any inconsistency or filth on a white background.

The desk, however, was littered with small contraptions. Some of them were odd, their shapes indiscernible and weird, others looked like miniature weapons, and some looked like they were supposed to be artistic sculptures of one sort or another.

Over the time that she had been working close with Angela, Satya has come to respect the woman greatly. Not that Satya hadn’t before, but this was more than only as an idol, for her impressive work and accomplishments, but on a more intimate level. Friendship, Satya dares to think? The closest Satya had come to someone of that nature was Sanjay, once, and that is not something which Satya cares to think of any longer.

It’s odd. Satya feels as though Angela finds more than a simple partnership between the two of them as well. Perhaps it’s the weeks of staying up together working on the plans, hammering and slicing up the details, making tea at 1am to calm their nerves and clear their heads. Where Satya strayed from a mindset conscientious of the fact that they were working on a live person with human emotions and relationships - Angela was Satya’s compassion. When Angela became too emotionally compromised, too worried about the project, too messy in the ways she wanted reconstruct Fareeha - Satya was her order. They were a fine balance - a compatible, complimenting balance that Satya hasn’t had - ever. And they had only fought once, in the third week of collaboration:

“What is it about Pharah you found so appealing?” Satya had questioned on one such tea break while looking over their most recent plans covering Fareeha’s face. The project was coming together at a much faster rate than Genji’s had, from Satya’s research. A combination of Angela’s previous experience and Satya’s quick learning and capabilities, she suspects.

Angela looks up at Satya with her eyebrows bunched together, which, Satya notes in the back of her mind, even in strained expressions Angela’s face is very symmetrical. “What did I find appealing about her?”

Satya’s face was unchanging. “Yes. I’d like to know. From my perception Pharah was quite - “

“Fareeha. Her name was - is _Fareeha_. What ‘perception’ did you have of her?” Satya did not catch the warning tone of provocation. People have never been her strong suit, especially reading them.

“She was an awfully blunt and idealistic woman.” Satya started with, having the list prepared in her mind. “She lent herself to Overwatch without a second thought despite their history, despite her many statements on the necessity for justice and fighting corruption, and being a soldier - after what I’ve read of your articles on anti-war - it just seems to clash, yes?”

“Why - !” Angela stood, the chair legs scratching dully against the floor. Then Satya was aware that Angela was unhappy. The nuances of interaction never ceased to be filtered out of Satya’s mind as irrelevant. Oh, how she wished differently when faced with the ramifications it caused, “are _you_ in Overwatch, _Vaswani of the **Vishkar** corporation _ ?” Satya’s eyes widened slightly, not expecting Vishkar to be used accusingly against herself - and not from Angela. “Isn’t Vishkar corrupt while ‘trying to provide better living’ for all?” Angela made direct eye contact with a taken aback Satya. Angela’s loud tone reverberated loudly through Satya’s mind, like the drag of the chair legs, the shake of the table, the bright, _bright_ fluorescent lights over them, the _disorder_ of everything in this moment - Satya tried with all her might to stop the sensory overload from taking full effect.

And suddenly Angela stopped, noticed Satya’s expression, the trembling set of her shoulders where Satya resisted burying her head and covering her ears, her mind on the verge of going belly-up.

“Sorry, I - I forgot,” Angela states and slides her own cup of tea to Satya despite already having one, taking a seat once again. “It’s the Ashwaganda you brought,” Angela said. Satya’s hands cupped around it in a rigidly hasty motion and brought it to her lips. The familiar taste triggered a calming wave through Satya, she’s made her body associate it with calm moments. This was a calm moment, Satya was staying calm, in control. “But still!” Angela said in a quelled but furious tone. Why had that been so jarring? Satya’s faced much worse than that and not been overwhelmed, not since she was a teenager. “You’ve stayed with Vishkar despite the corrupt history you’ve seen them make first-hand, and why?” Angela’s tone became less angry and more irritated as she stared Satya down. A stare Satya was once again able to meet with the tea in hand. “To create your ‘order,’ ‘curing’ these cities by wiping away their history and other companies to make way for you hard-light architecture.”

Satya paused for a long moment before speaking, “You mean Calado and the protests.” Angela’s silence is the answer. Satya supposed it was inevitable that the subject would be broached.

“And Vishkar as a whole.” Angela added.

“I believe in bringing the order from the chaos,” Satya settles on as an opener, sipping from her cup, “everyone will always first reject radical change. But that’s the only method Vishkar employs. I was taken from Hyderabad to a utopia to study the newest form of reality changing technology when I was young - very young.  Radical change is what I am accustomed to, unlike the world, and in control there is so much peace, and Vishkar is trying to make the populations understand that, and I believe in it.” Satya leaned a bit further of the table, “ _I believe in it_. As you believe in what you do. There were some in Overwatch who hated the project for Genji, but you finished it. Genji was an extraordinary asset. And now, he is a very good man who has forgiven even the one who murdered him and has found a peace most cannot ever discover in their lifetime. That’s you. Your determination to do what you believed. Saving people.

We both have the same belief, Angela.” Angela was watching Satya now, actually listening to her, instead of listening to a Vishkar architect.

“So the Calado explosion? Was that truly coincidence or was it you - or, Vishkar?” there was still a hint of interrogating accusation in this, but she understood.

Satya sat back. “I know there is sickness in Vishkar and that our methods can be improved. One day I will correct it.” Angela’s head raised a bit, Satya thinks that woman is finding compassion for Satya even now. Sometimes Satya wonders how Angela’s mind works, to find so much faith in everyone. “But right now, I wish to assist Overwatch and… and with thought I know it was foolish to judge Fareeha for joining them. Here I am. I don’t want this fighting either, but by being here in the fold I can help from the inside. That’s why you’re here as well, yes?”

Angela nods. There's a silence that spans between them but does not push them apart. “Fareeha…” Angela chimes after a couple minutes, “she had the same idea. To bring order from the chaos. You two would have agreed on that. We all want the world to be a better place. And I should remember that you are helping me get her back. Thank you, Satya.”

Satya didn’t notice Angela’s hand until it was stretched across the table surface, palm up. Meeting Angela’s eyes Satya concluded what the action sought. Her lips parted with ‘Why?’ curled up behind them, but Satya swallowed the word and tediously raised her hand.

It was odd, seeing her hand in Angela’s. Sure, Angela had been Satya’s conscience when she strayed, but now Satya was being embraced by Angela’s nature. It wasn’t the same embrace Vishkar had given Satya, this was different. More human, close, something Satya wanted to keep secret. Satya still had yet to see first-hand Fareeha’s traits, but she thinks that she can understand what the woman saw in Angela. She had watched Angela’s eyes linger deeply where their hands held and Satya couldn’t tear her gaze from the blue sky of Angela’s irises.

That was the first time Satya had dared imagine a relationship less shallow than ‘colleagues.’

And this was the first time Satya was trying to make a gift for someone that wasn’t an obligation of social etiquette. Satya’s imagination, applauded by her Vishkar trainers for years, was abruptly drawing a blank. There were the obvious things that Satya could craft for Angela, wings, a small staff, perhaps Pharah’s helmet? They were plausible gifts, and probably Angela would accept them - but would she _understand? Of course, Satya first had to address to herself what she was trying to offer to Angela with any of these trinkets anyways._

Satya hummed idly from the base of her throat in thought, eyes dancing around the pieces scattered across her desk.

“Mh.”

 

\----------

 

From Ziegler’s office Satya hears only the occasional heavy exhale, the scratch of pen on papers or against her desk, or the tilt of her weight in the chair she must be sitting in. It was only 11pm, so she was hardly running on any fumes. Angela would probably be up for a couple more hours before she let wear and tear of tiredness settle on her.

Satya hastily checked that she was standing up straight with nice posture and squared shoulders, her chin tilted up ever so slightly and lips pursed. Then she took a breath and moved into the doorway of Angela’s office. “May I come in?” Satya asked, as her door was already open.

Angela started at Satya’s interruption of her peaceful note taking, turning in her chair to face Satya’s direction. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but one more loose than usual, and she had as much of her bangs as she could tucked behind one ear. She’s got a pen clutched in her hand still. Satya doesn’t know why she doesn’t put everything on a tablet, it’s easier. She said she liked the charm of paper. Her head tilts as her eyes land on the small box obscured behind Satya’s back. “What do you have, then?”

Steeling herself, Satya holds the box in front of her. Inside of it is the handful of failed trinkets. They’re not much use for more than decoration, but they’re not really what Satya wants to give Angela.

“We’re friends?” Satya asked abruptly. Rip the bandaid off. Rapid change, rapid progression.

Angela, taken aback by the sudden question, blinked up at Satya. Then she smiled and soft, gentle laughter poured from her lips briefly. Satya suppressed a suspicious, if not mocked, expression. “Were you under the impression we weren’t?”

The question-answer and confirmation seems to pierce Satya’s heart and flooded her veins with the beating of her heart. Feeling more comfortable, Satya stepped forward into the room more, going to kneel on the fur rug on the floor of the office in front of Angela’s chair. She set the box down. Angela, seemingly amused by Satya’s behavior, laughed a bit more. “Satya, there’s a chair right over there.” It was too far and Satya didn’t want to waste time retrieving it. Besides, Satya was still a tall woman, Angela less so. She set the box on Angela’s lap. It was by no means large and rested easily slimmer than the width of Angela’s thighs.

“They’re supposed to be gifts. I’m afraid you may find them… banal.” Satya admitted, letting her eyes flicker to Angela’s. Angela was staring at Satya, her eyebrows knitted together and somehow looking more alight than Satya has seen her since Fareeha’s fate.

“Banal?” Angela said, like the idea was audacious as she plucked what was, indeed, a tiny replica of her healing staff, a small yellow light flickered out to touch the skin of her thumb and Angela giggled. Satya reminded herself to stay focused and inhaled.

“I wanted - “ Satya said seriously, catching Angela’s solemn attention again, “I wanted to make something better.”

Angela gave a huff of thought, Satya knew Angela would try to get her to let it go. Angela would accept the gifts Satya gave, with sincerity. “Satya, these are wo - “

“No - no, I - I made something better, I’m sure of it.” Satya cut her off before she could be gracious enough to leave things as they were. Angela quieted herself, waited for Satya, “The lights.” Satya instructed. Angela twisted in the chair to get at the switch by her desk and while she did so Satya raised both hands, doing only a couple warm up hard-light pulls.

Satya’s built entire cities and yet this simple design, it holds all the same intricate detail, the same importance - the same sentimentality, just pulled from a new source.

The office lights dim down to the darkest setting allowed for the office spaces - which will be enough for this. Angela stares at Satya’s hands where she warped geometric shapes in patterns. Once before when they had been on a mission, Angela had said that what Satya did with hard-light was art. It had been one of the few times someone hadn’t seemed a bit reluctant to compliment her. They all saw her as Vishkar.

 _We all want the world to be a better place._  Not Angela, Angela made the effort to recognize Satya in the 3 dimensions all humans are able to see in but not utilize.

Finally, Satya summoned the design to the forefront of her mind and felt it in her fingertips, pulsing in her cybernetic hand. Holding the mechanical one palm up, Satya holds her opposite hand above it, spreading the light before bringing it down and twisting. She felt all the mechanics materialize and click together at her will. Sometimes Satya wonders if that moment is what it’s like to be a god.

In an instant, a thin circular device sits neatly in the palm of Satya’s cybernetic hand. It was sleek and slim, nothing flamboyant. A scanner sat on the side of it.

Satya’s eyes moved from the device to Angela, measured her reaction so far. Nothing readable except perhaps awe, a hint of anticipation.

Satya held out her other hand to Angela and gingerly took her wrist to guide it toward the scanner. “Just… swipe your finger there - “ Angela does. Instantly a spray of light projects from the flattop of the circle. Angela recoils for a moment before leaning towards it again, their faces on either side of a soft blue light.

“Oh, Satya, this is,” Satya heard Angela’s breath catch. In the projection two birds fluttered around one another. One is a dove and the other is a falcon. The hue of the projection gradually shifted into a deep purple. There was an array of colors it would filter through, all soft on the eyes, easy to look at. “it’s beautiful.”

“A dove is seen often as a heavenly bird,” Satya spoke lowly but not nervously. “A ‘higher symbol’ if you will of many things. Devotion, peace, love, hope - care… and salvation.” Angela’s eyes momentarily met Satya’s before returning to watch the projection. Her face had fallen, her eyes grown deep like the ocean. The birds were then perched on something invisible side by side, messing with each other as birds do but lovingly. “But… also sacrifice.” Satya says. “You’ve sacrificed, Angela.”

“We all have,” Angela retorted. Satya felt her eyebrows press together.

“True. But often we make our sacrifices for strength, and you make all of yours for others.” Satya relied. “The falcon; that is Fareeha. A bird of passion and intelligent action. Strength. It beckons one to achieve goals with single-minded determination. I thought it was an apt analogy for Fareeha, from all you’ve said of her, and all I’ve read from profiles and reports. Is that a - correct, assumption?”

Angela hand her elbows propped on her knees and both hands clasped together to lean her chin. Her eyes were illuminated and teary as she bit into her bottom lip. The nod of her head is a bit erratic. “You don’t even - “ Angela’s chest heaves and Satya - Satya can’t stop staring at Angela. “I wish you two could have met before, that all three of us could have known each other more. I guess,” then, just as suddenly, Angela is smiling again. Teary and happy. Satya didn’t quite picture that those two could be so closely paired, “I guess you’ll still be able to meet her soon.”

Satya was staring still.

“Perhaps… we will all three be good friends, then.” Satya concluded. She waved one hand through the projection and it glitched off.

“Undoubtedly so,” Angela agreed.

Satya pressed the device into Angela’s hand. “I’m off to my room then,” Satya told the woman, turning to pad barefoot from the room with graceful steps. Angela stayed in the same position, cradling the projector in her hands. Very quickly, Satya raised her hands and crafted a secondary projector.

“I forgot,” Satya said brusquely and turned again, offering the second device to Angela as well. “There’s also this. I understand if you don’t want it or - “ Satya pressed her lips together, “If you don’t want it but, I thought you might so… Goodnight.”

  
And then Satya exited the office without a second look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same beta! You guys should check out her fics at Bleujay ~


	5. This Is Your Beauty, Treat It Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Satya is bad at controlling her gay tbh

“Angela and I are simply making sure you’re adjusted before we start implementing physical routines for you, to make sure that you don’t have any more burdens on your mind than necessary.” Satya finishes explaining to Fareeha, sitting cross-legged at the table in Fareeha’s room. It’s only the two of them again, Angela has been tediously keeping her distance for both her and Fareeha’s sake. An applaudable action.

Fareeha is in the bathroom, the door open so she could ask Satya questions and hear the answers. She had been in there since first beginning to probe Satya back for information on the situation, fiddling. Satya hasn’t gone to check exactly what she’s doing, but she raises her head curiously when Fareeha murmurs the question, “Did you build me like this?”

Satya raises an eyebrow, “‘Build’ is not the ideal term. But I am the one who was mainly responsible for your reinforced body structure, yes.” Angela had done a spectacular job designing Genji’s system, but with Satya’s technology they were able to employ more precise restructuring - a more human one.

“So… that makes you more familiar with this body than myself.” Fareeha states.

Intrigued, Satya finally stands. The click of her heels is light in the room as she makes her way to the open bathroom. “Are you experiencing body dysphoria, Fareeha?” Satya asks curiously.

Fareeha is standing front of the full body mirror. Has been, Satya thinks, since they started discussing the course of action for her recovery. A towel is pinned over it though, covering where Fareeha’s face and upper torso is, leaving her arms and legs open to view. Fareeha, wearing only a sports bra and a simple pair of black, fitting shorts, is staring at the few body parts she’s been allowed to see. Satya does stare, trailing her inspecting gaze down Fareeha’s body. It’s been obscured from view since Satya had finished it, seen it lain complete on a table. But that’s different from now. Now, Fareeha was conscious and alive, Satya’s work in action.

Fareeha eyes the towel narrowly, like she’s internally challenging herself to - something. Then Fareeha’s eyebrows draw together and she looks down her own body.

“It’s just - “ Fareeha began, huffing, “I feel like I’m wearing some costume.” She admits, the words tense. “I want to take it off but - I cannot.”

Satya pauses for just a moment, stalking thoughtfully around Fareeha to her left side. “Acting like you can is no means of resolving the issue.” Fareeha seems to take Satya’s words to heart, dropping her eyes in thought. But Satya interrupts her again, “Maybe - As you said, I’m more familiar with this body than even yourself. So tell me, what do you find the most awkward now? What questions about it do you have?”

Fareeha raises her head, meeting Satya’s eyes that coast anew across Fareeha’s facial features. The way her lower jaw was all curved, smooth metal. Fareeha liked the set of it under Fareeha’s control. “Why - “ one of Fareeha’s hands move to gingerly feel along the flesh-toned section of her face above the metal jaw, “didn’t you put this - all over? That way I wouldn’t have to think of… all of me.”

Satya answers immediately in a flippant tone, “You would prefer ignorance as to the way you’ve changed?” Fareeha’s face contorts a bit. Why, Satya isn’t sure specifically and doesn’t have confidence that Fareeha could convey verbally why. Most people can’t, they expect satya to simply know, so Satya explains further on habit, “Allowing that could have been mentally damaging. You needed to know about what you are, not find out when you scrape your elbow and find titanium beneath the wound. We kept the synthetic flesh over the most expressive part of the human anatomy, Angela had said it was important for most people to be able to ‘make faces’ for the emotions they feel,”

“Except you, Satya,” Angela had hummed. Satya believed it was a joke but didn’t want to ask Angela for clarification on the grounds of causing an awkward incident.

“Ah,” Fareeha replied, “understood.” Her eyes are cast to the floor of a moment before she touches her hand to her hair, sliding it along the material. “This. It makes me feel like a doll with plastic hair.”

“That’s because it’s on the wrong setting.” Satya responds, catching a confused look from Fareeha. Satya raises one hand towards Fareeha’s face before stopping and asking, “May I?” to which Fareeha replies with a nod. Satya could easily give Fareeha the instructions to do it herself but - well, Satya doesn’t. It’s like holding Angela’s hand across a table late at night. An exception to Satya’s aversion for physical touch. “It’s been compact since you woke up, if I had realized I would have assisted you sooner. The current setting is to make absolutely sure it won’t get in the way in battle,” Satya explains as her hand finds the back of Fareeha’s neck. In the crevice where the nape of the neck meets the head is a small button that Satya clicks. “This should feel less unsettling and more comfortable, I presume.”

The material of the hair goes soft, the opposite of the shell-like way it had been moments before. Fareeha instantly cards her hair through the synthetic hair. It was more coarse and peculiar, Fareeha could part it with her fingers but when it came back together it still looked as though it hadn’t been separated at all, just like the aforementioned shell-like quality of it before - only not.

Fareeha seems enthralled by this change, or maybe intensely relieved. “It is… better, than before. You’re right.”

For a moment they stand in silence, Fareeha touching her head and Satya watching her.

Then Satya’s eyes move to the towel over the mirror with a look more displeased than not. “This,” Satya said, reaching out to the towel, “is a poor idea. You will never grow with it stunting your vision.” She says bluntly.

Fareeha stays silent, clenches her jaw. While Satya often cannot read people, or at least read them closely, she sees this. The cogs in Fareeha’s mind that are rejecting herself. She does not see what Satya sees in the technology that now accounts for a portion of her body’s makeup. So many people overlook or under appreciate the integration of metal and flesh even in the basic tiers of society. Fareeha is doing so when it is now embodying her. Satya can’t imagine a more toxic mindset to Fareeha’s reality.

“Wanting to be like any other exceptional human being gets you nowhere,” Satya starts, staring at Fareeha’s averted gaze, “I can tell you this with complete and experienced certainty.” There was a brief period when the desire to be normal consumed Satya like a tidal wave that swallows a swimmer. “It may not be what you envisioned, but this is still your life. When you do not accept that, you become trapped.”

“This is different. I’m more metal and technology than I am human.”

“An omnic is all metal and technology, and yet you’ve saved countless of them from hate because you believed that they had as much a right to justice as any human. And now, because you are not completely flesh and bone you will deny justice for yourself, from yourself?” Satya retorts. Fareeha looks more thoughtful now. Good, it often only takes a small nudge for people to think. “My arm, a veteran’s leg, a child’s eye - lots of people are have metal in their biology, Fareeha. It hasn’t been uncommon since the early 2000s.”

“It’s just - I have so much. Too much. I can’t picture myself in a cafe with someone, going unnoticed by people.” Fareeha says wistfully.

Satya’s features remain austere as she pushes forward, “Let them stare. You are a woman risen by her astounding nature, even before. You are a soldier that has been aired across countries for your achievements. Given honor and awards. There are plenty who would stare, regardless of what you are like now.” Satya looks over Fareeha. The metal and skin are a mesh all the way down her body.

They were able to salvage Fareeha’s entire torso, and most of the organs. They had to reinforce half of it, though, so the metal runs down the middle of her stomach. A synthetic flesh and tissue implant for Fareeha’s right breast was used, as Angela worried not replicating it would cause more dysphoria than she predicted Fareeha would have. Then, also Fareeha’s right arm and upper thigh, although the rest of the leg was cybernetic like the left. Most of Fareeha’s skeletal structure was replaced or supplemented with metal, but there was actually more of it than the outside might lead Fareeha to believe.

And Satya told Fareeha that.

“Your melding of cybernetics makes you beautiful,” Satya says, her gaze deep and fixed on all the metal and flesh curves of Fareeha’s body. Fareeha’s being, how lovely Satya finds it, coaxes her out of herself and away from the restraints of her mind, which speaks freely, “Just as the traits of anyone makes them beautiful. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, you only have to look at yourself.” Satya hums, she reaches out. Her eyes flash with the vision of Angela reaching out. And she touches the line between the synthetic flesh and metal on Fareeha’s face. Fareeha watches Satya, her face turned to her as Satya runs her finger along the seam.

Fareeha’s features twitch slightly. The synthetic flesh is tied to synthetic and natural nerves, and Satya doubts someone else has given Fareeha much sensation.

  
And at that realization, Satya pulls her hand away from Fareeha, returning it to her side. “The towel isn’t a coping mechanism, it’s a way for you to ignore the truth.” Satya finishes, sliding behind Fareeha and out the door. “Have you eaten today? Your stomach only sustained light damage, it was easy to save.” It was Satya's almost-attempt at a joke as she wanders to Fareeha’s bedside table to straighten out the angle Fareeha’s clock sits at. She thinks it was a well executed joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me @galaxynoxious.tumblr.com! Thank you guys a billion for the feedback so far, it really does help motivate me.


	6. Find the Line, Bury It Deeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because school's started for me again, I'll probably add chapters on a more weekly basis. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

_[Then]_

 

Lazy light streamed through a veil of curtains, hazily illuminating two women tangled together in the morning. Though it was early they were both wide awake and whispered sweet nothings to one another like the lovely words could sustain them forever.

It was a moment locked in time - transcendent of the world outside the room.

From this angle, a sliver of that dull, budding sunlight slanted over the side of Fareeha’s face, illuminating the brown of her eyes like they were firestone mines. Her arms and legs were intertwined with Angela’s, their hands held between them and faces resting less than a foot apart on the pillows while they stared at each other. They were never content to go a morning without this all-encompassing intimacy. There was too much danger in their line of work not to. But while that may motivate these times, they didn’t let their thoughts revolve around it.

“And what flowers would we have, mein Liebling?” Angela asked in a soft but blissful and high voice, brushing her thumb restlessly against the skin of Fareeha’s hand. “I’ve always wanted orchids.”

Fareeha adjusted her head on the pillow and Angela watched her eyes trail around her features with so much care and love that it filled Angela’s chest to the point of overflowing. It was the same way Angela looked at Fareeha. “If you want,” Fareeha replied, “but we also have to have forget-me-nots.”

“Myosotis!” Angela chirruped back, laughing for a brief moment, “Those tiny blue flowers?” She questioned. Fareeha nodded. “They are awfully pretty - but they do grow _everywhere_. If the wedding is going to be in a field, we probably won’t even have to order them.”

Fareeha just pressed her lips into a thin smile. “You know, forget-me-nots are a symbol of faithfulness and an enduring love. I always liked that. My mother would have them in her bedroom and I would always water them while she was away on missions.” Fareeha paused, nostalgia seething from her for a couple seconds before returning to what she was saying, “It’s a lot like us - all of us, but _us_ , too. I think the promise of eternal love is strange,” Fareeha seemed to backtrack quickly as Angela listened, “not that I won’t love you forever.” This was accompanied by Fareeha raising Angela’s hand to her lips and pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

“I would sure hope so,” Angela joked easily. Both of them knew the truth.

“But still, I like the thought of an _enduring_ love. One that is _strong_ , like us. It will withstand any storm and suffer any pain to stay complete.” Angela never thinks that she could love Fareeha more than she already does, before Fareeha proves her wrong. “Is that poetic?” Fareeha’s eyes close as laughter thrums against her lips and Angela joins her.

“Yes,” Angela answered lightly, “with more reading and practice, you’d be quite the poet.”

“I guess I’ll have to continue reading - who was it you told me about - Hermann Hesse? Everyday during my training breaks,” Fareeha smiled slyly, leaning her head in a bit like she was about to perform a daring feat, and of course Angela was enthralled, “ _‘Where is your blonde hair, where is your sweet mouth?’_ ” Fareeha was obviously pleased with herself for citing it from Hesse’s poem.

Angela quirked her lips to the side, trying to hide the blush as she narrowed her eyes on Fareeha. “But can you do it in my native tongue?” Angela asks with a teasing stubbornness.

Fareeha did.

Angela had no choice but to scoot closer to Fareeha to capture the woman’s lips in a deep, passionate kiss. The kind of fervor cultivated from an intrinsic love. Angela could feel it unspooling from her constantly, wound around all of her ribs and tangled around her major organs and pulling her chest tight.

One of Fareeha’s hands snuck to cup the nape of Angela’s neck, leveraging to turn them so that Fareeha was propping herself up on one elbow over Angela as she pulled away from the kiss momentarily.

“And you know, when someone wears a forget-me-not, it’s impossible for their lover to forget them,” Fareeha smiled, eyes gazing down at Angela’s.

Angela had believed her.

 

_[Now]_

 

Fareeha’s amnesia was a perfectly normal symptom of being revived from her prolonged dead state. It was different from Genji’s project in only one way -

That is was _Fareeha_ , and not Genji. It was the woman Angela has known since they were both young, the woman Angela fell in love with when she was 27 after two years of diligence and determination on Fareeha’s part. Doctors aren’t supposed to take cases for loved ones, and of course Angela has always known fundamentally why. But now she feels it. She hasn’t been herself while working on Fareeha. But Overwatch wanted a reliable and experienced hand on the project and Angela wanted to work first hand on her girlfriend regardless of the ethical complications.

Angela doesn’t regret the decision, but she acknowledges the weight of it sitting heavily between her lungs.

She just wants to talk to Fareeha again, the Fareeha that knows Angela and laughs with her and, God, _loves_ her. Angela just wants to hug Fareeha again. And she has Fareeha alive, and she can’t do it. And she can’t let Fareeha know that it hurts and why, because that would be unfair.

So this is an simply an experiment, Angela tells herself as she approaches Fareeha’s door.

Over the past several days, Angela and Satya have taken turns with casual interrogations of Fareeha. Making sure to note any signs of progression in her memory and how she’s adjusting to the body. Soon, as she and Angela discussed, Satya would take Fareeha to the training and practice quarters so that Fareeha can start working with her body in action. But here Angela was going to attempt to evoke old memories in a discreet manner so as not to overwhelm Fareeha’s potentially still fragile mind.

Clasped in Angela’s hands is a small flower pot with myosotis planted in it.

She raises one hand over the scanner beside the door and speaks, “Fareeha, it’s Angela. May I come in?” It’s important to make sure Fareeha feels like she has privacy here, like someone normal, despite the fact that they have to intrusively probe her nearly everyday. Despite the fact that she is no longer normal.

In turn, Fareeha’s door slid open to allow Angela access.

Fareeha was sprawled on her bed tossing a small, light blue stress ball into the air so that she could repeatedly catch it in her hands. It seems as though Fareeha is growing more and more bored by being cooped up in the room.

“How are you feeling today, Fareeha?” Angela questions her lightly as the door slides shut behind her. It was the same basic introductory question Angela usually asked.

Fareeha makes an ‘ah’ sound before speaking, “Okay. Better, now that I have your company.”

The response shocks Angela, her whole body alert and electrified with the lightning strike of hope. Her eyes flicker to the myosotis in her hands and back up, wide and disbelieving. Has Fareeha - Angela’s mind stumbles with the prospect of the statement.

 _Has Fareeha remembered?_ Is the question that echoes through Angela’s mind.

“I have some questions... about my biology.” Fareeha continued, catching the ball in hand one more time before stopping.

The realization dawned on Angela that Fareeha’s memory hadn’t returned. It was disappointing, Angela admitted shamefully in the back of her mind. Her gaze retracted to the little blue flowers, a bit of a sheepish blush coloring her cheeks as she realized her impulsive thoughts. Suddenly this whole idea seemed… manipulative? Unbecoming. Angela was trying to rush about the resurgence of memories which should come naturally to Fareeha.

“... also... about Satya.” Fareeha added in a mildly awkward manner. “I’m glad that you’ve come alone this time, Doctor Ziegler,” Fareeha said, more lowly - like this is a secret shared between them now. Angela’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion for the moment before she shook her head at the vague, misshapen ideas that start to form.

Angela sets the flowers on the counter, out of sight from Fareeha for the moment. “Alright,” she says, approaching Fareeha and pulling one of the chairs from the dining table to take a seat near the bed as Fareeha adjusts to sit properly on it’s edge, facing Angela. “Tell me about your inquiries, please.”

“My nervous system,” Fareeha begins without hesitation, an odd, firm quality to her tone of voice that surprises Angela a small amount. It’s momentarily reminiscent of the old Fareeha, “Does it still work like before? I know it doesn’t in the parts of me that you had to completely rebuild - “ Fareeha raises her cybernetic arm as an example, “but in the other places, beneath the metal plating and - inside of me, is it still intact?”

Angela mulls over her answer for a second before settling. “Do you feel this?” she asks before reaching out to scrape her fingernail with only semi-hard pressure against the skin of Fareeha’s flesh and bone thigh, left exposed by the slightly rucked-up set of Fareeha’s basketball shorts. Fareeha jumps minutely, her hand snatching Angela’s wrist with a brief laugh. Angela is in awe of that tiny laugh before she, too, smiles.

“Yes,” Fareeha responds unnecessarily.

“Well,” Angela quips, “judging by that response, it should be in fair working order where it still exists. We also worked on making sure there was pressure sensitivity in your cybernetic limbs and areas. It won’t communicate the same as real nerves, but you’ll be able to tell, for example, if I were pushing on your robotic shoulder. The synthetic flesh on your face, however, is more… experimental tech. It’s got millions of faux nerve reciprocators, and it layers almost directly over the muscle of your face, which healed well.” Angela explains. Fareeha has already released Angela’s wrist of course, which she uses the attached hand to brush at the bangs beginning to fall in front of her line of sight.

Fareeha nods her head understandingly, her eyes going distant and lips pursing in a telltale indication that there is more the woman wants to say. Angela tilts her head a bit, waiting for Fareeha to get her next question in order.

Fareeha notices Angela’s open patience and seems grateful as she finally continues, “It’s just… would I be able to - to have... “ Fareeha trails off, her voice knowing and implying.

It takes longer than it normally should for Angela to feel the puzzle pieces of Fareeha’s unfinished question piece together.

“Have sex, you mean?” Angela says carelessly. She’s just - she’s surprised Fareeha would even think about sex yet. “Uhm,” Angela clears her throat, “yes, yes you should be able to.”

Though, perhaps with Fareeha having much of her core body and the robotics having simplified the normal rebounding time most trauma survivors take, and likely helping Fareeha feel much more pent up stamina and restlessness than before - especially with having to stay inside of a peace-enforced, solitary facility with little given to funnel out that building stress, it’s only natural that Fareeha might have those thoughts ahead of schedule.

But still -

What triggered Fareeha’s sexual interest?

Fareeha seethes relief, her head hanging with it for several seconds before she raised it. Angela was still recuperating from the thoughts provoked by Fareeha’s biological questions. The thought of answering whatever Fareeha had wanted to know about -

 _Oh_.

“Satya?” Angela spoke the thought aloud. It comes out in more of a squeak than Angela would have wanted, and Fareeha takes it as a segue.

“Right. Satya. I know it’s not - what’s the word, ‘ethical?’ - ”

Angela nods for Fareeha to continue as she stands up, turning from the other woman as she processes.

“She seems like a very professional woman and, ah, God. I’m not sure - I’d like to maybe do something for her. Talk to her more, or - ”

There are plenty of reasons Fareeha could have formed a crush on Satya. It’s not nearly uncommon in supervising relationships for one party to make an emotional sort of bond. That’s - that’s -

But this isn’t merely a common or even uncommon sort of situation. Overwatch is well aware Fareeha and Angela were romantically involved. Angela made sure they knew.

Angela had thought closely - painfully - on the possibility that Fareeha may come back without the same emotional tie to her. But Angela had not accounted for the possibility that Fareeha could fall for someone else during her recovery period. And the fact that it could be Satya is -

What is it?

“Do you know much about - about her interests? Or...”

Angela thinks of Satya’s gifts all that time ago, where Angela keeps them now. Also she thinks of their weeks upon months’ worth of late nights together and the way she hadn’t even pictured Vaswani with a laugh until she was bubbling with it across the kitchen counter, and the humming and swaying of Satya’s hips when she’s thinking and assuming herself to be alone. Angela thinks about morning after morning in bed with Fareeha where they traced the contours of each others’ bodies. She thinks about Fareeha’s hearty laugh that warms the entire room and lifts Angela up.

In her time spent wondering and half-listening, Angela had strode back to the counter where the forget-me-nots sat. Their blue is mocking Angela’s sudden, _overwhelming_ frustration. The source of which Angela cannot pinpoint, even though she knows she _should_ be able to.

“Fareeha,” Angela speaks.

Fareeha stops talking behind her. Angela takes the tiny pot of flowers and heads back over to the bed, “I’m sorry to interrupt but, could we do a quick exercise.”

Fareeha’s eyes have already narrowed, heavy with thought on Fareeha’s part, on the myosotis. Angela keeps them on her lap as she takes a seat in her chair again.

“This is myosotis. Commonly called forget-me-nots. Please, tell me: do they evoke any sort of emotion or even memories for you?” Angela asks, quick and straight to the point. As much as possible, even in Angela’s newly agitated state she won't let herself risk too much.

Fareeha looks at Angela without an malice for her subject change and then to the flowers. “Uh,” Fareeha murmurs, her eyebrows furrowing as she gives a thoughtful glance to the plant. The pause was tense, the air between Angela and Fareeha grown stressed with Angela’s emotions. “I…” Fareeha suddenly began, and Angela snapped to full attention, “I remember - !” Angela felt her heart flutter or convulse in her chest as Fareeha’s lips broke into a smile, “Reinhardt!”

Angela’s heart fell still and silent.

“I remember Reinhardt!” Fareeha repeated, gleeful about the recovery of a new memory - even if it wasn’t what it was supposed to be. “He told me about them when… when I was a girl - in my kitchen! He told me he always kept a bit on him.” Fareeha’s eyes are lost, distant as they swim in the memory while Angela stews, her hands clenched tight around the pot.

Fareeha could remember Reinhardt, a story about flowers from when she was a kid, Satya’s _moniker_. But not Angela? Not her long time girlfriend and the life they were planning together?

Angela has been so focused on Fareeha, on making sure Fareeha lives and undergoes proper rehabilitation. And while Angela has denied it, or at least included fodder about multiple reasons; it’s all been with the hope of having her back, even at the risk that she would have to let Fareeha go anyways. _This_ was why intimate persons are usually restricted to work with each other in these fields.

The stress of it all has Angela finally bursting at the seams.

Angela blankly set the flowers on Fareeha’s bedside table and folded her hands in her lap. “Good session, Fareeha. We’re making great progress.” Angela says, releasing the lungful of air she had been holding without notice. Fareeha smiles again with a nod of agreement, her head turning to myosotis as she thinks.

“I’ll see you again,” Angela says, replacing the chair at Fareeha’s table and exiting the room.

It’s rare when the intercom announces an arrival for someone. Usually, in this facility, it’s only supplies they have delivered that gets sorted and labelled for it’s use or designated staff member. Any persons that come are here for a reason and know where to go.

Certainly, this isn’t the type of facility that receives visitors like some sort of open-grounds workplace.

  
So, it was awfully unexpected when Angela is down the hall and hears an artificial voice announce: “Visitor in the main lobby for Doctor Ziegler.”


End file.
